Un coeur en hiver
by Pommekitty
Summary: Harry Potter doesn't have trouble sleeping. He just chooses not to. Every night, for two hours, he allows himself to think about Her and him together. H/Hr. R&R please.
1. Harry

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Disclaimer: Nothing's mine and I'm not making any money with this. JKR is the genius beyond it all.

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Author's note: I felt the urge to write something H/Hr today. I am a zealous shipper of this pairing but it's the first time I'm writing about Harry and Hermione. This story is going to be short (only two parts) and the R rating will be justified in the last part. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. A review is always appreciated :)

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UN CŒUR EN HIVER

Part One

What Harry Potter liked best these days was sitting close to the fire in the Gryffindor common room. Preferably alone.

The winter was especially harsh this year, thus explaining the need for a comforting fire to warm cold toes. However, it didn't explain Harry's craving for solitude and, had his friends known about this unexpected development, they would have been worried.

But, as Harry never went down to the common room before he was sure every Gryffindor was safely away in the land of dreams, no-one knew about his new habit. And the Boy-Who-Lived was free to stare moodily into space and indulge in the angst and confusion a normal teenager had to deal with on a regular basis.

The angst and confusion were caused by none-other than his friend of almost seven years, Hermione Granger. 

Harry and Ron weren't surprised when they each had received an owl from an overjoyed Hermione, informing them that she had been entrusted with the Headgirl position. Harry had been sincerely happy for her even if it meant they would have less time to spend together. He knew that was what she wanted and he had no doubt she would do a great job.

It had taken him a month to realise that he missed her. A lot. Not that she had disappeared from his life completely. Truth to be told, she always tried her hardest to be with her friends as much as possible. And, when Hermione tried something, she usually succeeded. A casual observer wouldn't have noticed any marked difference in the Trio's dynamics since the three Gryffindors were still seen together, roaming the halls and grounds or quietly plotting in a corner. But to Harry everything was different. It had it him like a tone of brick after Hermione had left the Great Hall after a rushed breakfast for the umpteenth time since the beginning of the year: he was losing her. 

Staring blankly at his porridge he had recalled all the little things that had happened in the past month. Hermione getting a room outside Gryffindor Tower…Hermione leaving them every other Saturday afternoons to attend Prefect meetings…Hermione leaving the common room at nine sharp several nights a week to go on her patrols along the dark corridors…Hermione not always in the Library when she disappeared…Hermione who even joked about it to him and Ron— 'You wouldn't want the Headgirl always meddling in your schemes now would you? Think of all the points I would have to take away from Gryffindor otherwise!'.

He had laughed at the time, before some new and disturbing feelings surfaced. He began to realise that it wasn't exactly Hermione the good friend he was missing, but rather her very essence, odds and bits that made her Hermione. What he found he missed most though was the soft tickling of her hair brushing against his cheek when she would lean over his armchair to examine the position of his –usually few- remaining chess pieces when he was playing against Ron. Now, when she did stay to watch a game, she always brought some work with her and settled down quietly next to them.

He had thought it logical that he should miss his friend. After taking her for granted for so long, he considered it a good thing that he had at last realised how lucky Ron and he were to have her. But the odd feelings assaulting him every now and then remained a source of mystery to him.

The epiphany had come one November evening. He had gone to the office she shared with the Headboy, Draco Malfoy, to ask her if she fancied an escapade to The Three Broomsticks. Finding them working in companionably silence at the same desk had been a shock. He hadn't known what he had wanted most at that moment, _being_ Draco Malfoy or pummelling the Slytherin to the ground for sitting so close to Hermione when he could have used his own desk. His proposition made—and declined—he had found himself rooted in front of the closed door of _their_ office, and he had understood. 

Now, Harry didn't consider himself an overly romantic person. It didn't bother him that the epiphany hadn't come at seeing Hermione standing alone on the shores of the lake at sunset, the wind tormenting her robes and making a mess of her hair. But he couldn't help but wonder how many persons had realised they were in love while staring at a door made of sturdy oak. 

And now here he was, in front of the fire, hands looped around his legs and chin resting on his knees. It was well after midnight and yet he was not tired. He had been debating for nearly a month now whether to tell her or not. He had watched her attentively—as discretely as possible—but never found any sign hinting to similar feelings on her part. He knew that he wasn't an expert on those things though and, he hoped, he might be wrong. 

Usually, when a boy isn't sure what the girl is feeling towards him, he turns to the best friend of said girl and tries to coax the precious information out of them. But even if Harry were the type to open up to people, it wouldn't have been a possible option here. The only Hermione experts at Hogwarts were himself and Ron. Harry was lucid enough to realise that, even to them, she was sometimes a mystery. Talking to Ron had occurred to him but the idea put him ill at ease for some reason.

Also, sometimes Harry felt guilty for thinking about his sentimental problems when Voldemort was still roaming the countryside and killing people. Granted he had been lying low these past two years and there had been very few victims, but he was still a threat and Harry felt that this quietness had lulled them all into a sense of false security. As the Boy-Who-Lived, he knew that people expected him to save the world a second time. He didn't like his idol-like status and had no idea as to how Voldemort could be vanquished but he would try, and would likely get killed in the process. 

How long before it happened? Did he have the right to tell Hermione he loved her when it was very likely he wouldn't be alive in a year? 

Harry sighed and flopped back on the warm carpet, arms and legs spread out. He closed his eyes and tried to empty his mind. The snake-faced wizard wasn't going to spoil this moment. It was the only time he allowed himself to daydream—rather 'nightdream' at this hour-- about what could be and he preferred it when the daydreams were all sunshine and roses. Nothing too mushy though. He had been trying to imagine what his parents' life had been ever since he was a little boy and he was now trying to apply his sweet and simple scenarios to Hermione and himself. 

When his mind would quit the 'happily ever after' path to venture onto more risqués grounds he would flush and thank Merlin he was alone. He had always been imaginative and his little fantasies could take him to the most interesting places. More than once he had ended up with an erection he was too afraid to get rid of in the common room. He would go back to bed and guiltily cast a privacy charm on the hangings. There, in his little cocoon, he could moan Hermione's name as freely as he wanted, her image burned against his closed eyelids. 

But tonight Harry's mind refused to take him into his secret little world. He knew he couldn't continue escaping reality like that every night. Dumbledore had warned him against dwelling too much on dreams in his first year. An advice he had only vaguely understood then…

"Harry?"

Harry jumped. His guard had been down and he hadn't expected anyone to come down at this time of night. 

"Are you alright?" Ron sounded sleepy and Harry saw that he tried to stifle a yawn.

"Yes. Yes, I'm fine. I was about to go to bed actually," Harry lied. He got to his feet and went to join his friend on the staircase.

Ron gave him a look that would have been piercing had he not been vainly trying to blink the sleep from his eyes.

" 'lright," he said after a moment. "But don't think you're going away with this, it's the third night in a row I notice you're not in bed before two. We'll talk about it tomorrow." 

The two friends made their way back to their dormitory and Harry could tell that Ron was asleep as soon as he hit the pillow. But he had no doubt that he would remember to ask about his bouts of insomnia. Harry hated it when he had to lie, especially when it was to his friends. And after all, it might do him some good to let it all out. But he could wait until tomorrow to think about it, for sleep and his Hermione beckoned to him now and he was going to be one happy wizard for a few hours. 


	2. Hermione

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Author's note: Thanks for the reviews everyone. I know I said there would only be two parts but Hermione wanted to be heard so I squeezed her narrative in the story. Never fear though, the 'confrontation'(and some smutiness) will be next and it will end my first foray into the world of H/Hr. You might notice some similarities with the first part (like the use of the words: sigh, cocoon, imagination….). It's done on purpose and wasn't due to laziness on my part. Oh and I forgot to give the translation of the title: "A heart in winter."

Part 2

The words she had just written down started to blur in front of her eyes and Hermione knew that it was time to turn in for the night. Those reports could wait until tomorrow. Draco had left their office a good while ago and she allowed herself an ungracious yawn. She had learned to know the Slytherin boy better in the four months they had been working together and he wasn't that bad. He wasn't exactly an angel, far from it, but at least she hadn't heard him say the word '_mudblood' _in a good three months. Of course it could be that he wanted to avoid being on the wrong end on her wand, _again. _Hermione recalled a useful spell of hers with particular fondness. No doubt that Draco remembered it too, minus the fondness of course. He was as good as a lamb with her now, and, truth to be told, she rather enjoyed his acid remarks when they were both working on tedious paperwork.

Still, she never really let her guard down around him. She would never yawn her head off, stretch or crack her bones in his presence. These were signs of weakness in her opinion. Better be safe than sorry with Draco Malfoy.

Better be safe than sorry…

Well, this also applied to what she called the 'Harry Case'. Oh, she was safe, no doubt about that. She was fairly certain he knew nothing of her little secret. Trouble was, she was sorry as well. Three years of bottling up your feelings wasn't good for your mental health or general happiness.

But under her bossy attitude Hermione was really an insecure at heart. It was obvious that he didn't think of her in _that_ way. And God knows she had looked for the smallest titbit of interest on his part. With a slight twist of imagination a concerned look or a light brushing of the hand could take an entire new meaning. You could change a lot of things with your imagination…

Apart from his lack of interest there was also the problem of her general appearance. Hermione didn't think she was belittling herself in stating that she was plain. Not ugly, just average. She had made her peace with her hair. She told herself that had she had to choose between nice teeth and straight hair she would have chosen the teeth as the hair could always be charmed on occasion. She had a pretty smile (thanks to Malfoy) and bushy hair and she would have to be happy with that. Still, she was no Cho Chang.

Hermione had completed her examination of the Harry Case at the end of her fifth year and resolved to keep silent. Besides, she was convinced that infatuation wouldn't last.

Hermione Granger was rarely proved wrong. Everyone knew that. But of course there are exceptions. In that case it was a rather big one. It hadn't passed, far from it.

Her sixth year hadn't exactly been hell but something definitely close to it. She was surprised Harry and Ron hadn't noticed anything and she didn't know if she should feel grateful or hurt that her two close friends obviously didn't know her that well.

The Hogwarts letter containing the offer for the Headgirl position had been all the more welcome in the summer. Other than the fact she had wanted the position ever since she'd set foot at Hogwarts, she knew that her new duties would keep her occupied. Less time with Harry was what she needed.

She had allowed herself to hope though. Once. When Harry had come to ask if she wanted to go to the Three Broomsticks one eveining. Of course she should have known he didn't even consider going without Ron.

It had been a month ago.

Hermione sighed and extricated herself from her comfortable chair. The walk to her rooms wasn't long and she soon found herself alone in her cold bed. 

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The next morning Hermione decided to skip breakfast and opted for a walk instead. It had snowed during the night and the December wind was blowing none too gently across the wide expanse of flat ground separating the castle from the lake. The grey sky promised more snow later in the day.

Safely wrapped in her warm cloak and sporting the woollen bonnet and scarf set Harry had given her last Christmas Hermione felt like she was in a cocoon. She had hated her solitude the previous night but relished it on this cold morning. A little smile was playing on her face as she walked toward the lake, her boots crushing the fresh snow. She liked going to near the lake, it reminded her of the time she used to spend here with Harry in their fourth year. 

Cherished memories flew through her mind as she sat on a fallen trunk, her feet inches from the water. It was in this very spot that she had realised she wanted Harry to be more than a friend to her for the first time. She took off her gloves and let her hands rest on the cold and decaying wood. It was comforting. She had always felt serene around wood. This particular tree was dead but she could still imagine the sap pulsing, coursing inside…

Her hands were nearly frozen when Harry came to sit beside her.


End file.
